


no rest for the wicked

by theagonyofblank



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Don't Examine This Too Closely, F/F, Gen, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 18:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3738931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theagonyofblank/pseuds/theagonyofblank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaw's a Jaeger pilot. Root is kind of sort of a thorn in her side. (But not as much as Martine. Never as much as Martine.) Like you're surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no rest for the wicked

**Author's Note:**

> This may undergo a revision later, but it's been sitting on my computer for so long that I just needed to publish it. (I wish I could say that for all of my WIPs.)

It’s a practiced move by this point.

She reaches back with her right arm and takes a leap into the air – all perfectly in sync with her partner – and when they swing their arms across so that they press against their left hips, the sword slices cleanly through the Kaiju.

And it feels fucking amazing.

 

 

*

“That’s ten, Rousseau,” she says as soon as she steps out of the Conn-Pod, pulling off her helmet and sending Rousseau the smarmiest smile she can possibly muster.

Reese is stopped next to her, standing still as the technician helps him out of his drivesuit. She doesn’t need to look at her copilot to know that he’s rolling his eyes – or he would be, if he could be bothered.

“Surely I don’t have to remind you, Shaw, that Lambert and I still have eleven kills,” Rousseau retorts from where she’s leaned against the wall, like she fucking owns the place. (She doesn’t; it’s not even her drivesuit room.) “I believe you and Reese have some catching up to do.”

Shaw scowls, and Rousseau only smirks.

“Come find us in the mess hall,” the blonde says airily, and Shaw wants nothing more than to wipe that expression off her face. Violently. “We’ll save you two a seat.”

 

 

*

She and Reese arrive in the mess hall to a standing ovation, and she stiffens at the unwanted pats on her back and congratulations and other sentiments of gratitude sent her way. The only thing that keeps the forced smile on her face is the vice grip she has on Reese, and if he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t say anything. (It’s not like he has to, anyway.) 

The place is so packed that there’s no room for them anywhere except the seats Rousseau has saved for them, so Shaw grudgingly makes her way over with her stew and potatoes. She sits directly across from Lambert, who’s more bearable by a fraction, and doesn’t say anything to either of the Samaritan Alpha pilots as she works on her dinner.

She’s halfway through her meal when Rousseau tears herself away from the conversation she’s having with Lambert to regard Shaw and Reese.

“You two were busy—”

 _Killing a Kaiju,_ Shaw thinks viciously and takes a particularly hearty bite of her mashed potatoes to keep her mouth occupied. She would really rather bite something _else,_ and not in the good way, and Reese must pick up on her train of thought, because he clears his throat.

“—but we’ve just gotten confirmation that we’re getting a new transfer.”

There’s a pause that no one seems particularly compelled to fill.

Shaw keeps on chewing, even though there’s not much to chew of mashed potatoes.

And then Reese breaks the silence: “ _A_ new transfer?”

Shaw knows he’s thinking the same thing she is.

For the past few weeks, there’s been rampant speculation in the Shatterdome of a transfer that was in the works, though no one knows – _knew_ – where from, much less which Jaeger and its associated pilots. But if they’re talking about a single pilot, then it must mean that Control has authorized the transfer of—

“The Machine?” Reese continues, picking up on her train of thought. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

Either way, Rousseau nods in confirmation. “Scheduled arrival: 1600 tomorrow.”

It’s times like these, when Shaw gets relatively accurate information that she couldn’t have gotten from anyone else (because apparently she has a resting bitch face that scares most people from telling her things like this, but is that _really_ a bad thing? –and also, how can she get it to work on _Rousseau_ ), that Shaw remembers that sometimes, it’s not so bad to have Martine Rousseau around.

 

 

*

Other times she tolerates Rousseau’s presence:

  * When Fusco’s making a terrible joke over lunch and Rousseau’s the only one, besides Shaw, of course, with a glare threatening enough to silence him
  * When it’s just Samaritan Alpha and Mayhem Twins (don’t ask her why it’s plural – it’s clearly _one_ Jaeger, and for the last time, _no_ , it was not named after her and John… she thinks) in the middle of the South China Sea against three Kaijus determined to rip their heads off
  * …and anytime she’s not talking, but that should go without saying



 

 

*

After all the talk and fuss about the transfer, actually meeting the pilot of The Machine is largely underwhelming.

She’s a woman, dark-haired and taller than Shaw, and Bear makes a huge show of sniffing at the ground around her feet, before dutifully trotting back to stand next to Shaw.

“You must be Sameen,” the woman says when she sees Shaw. “John has told me so much about you.”

 _John_ is standing at her shoulder, looking extremely unimpressed, and needless to say, Shaw doubts the accuracy of that statement. “It’s Shaw,” she corrects gruffly, reaching down to scratch Bear between his ears as he bumps his cold nose into her hand.

The woman purses her lips, looking like she’s in on a secret and about to impart some of that very special knowledge. Instead, all she does is extend a hand and say, “Root. I transferred from—”

“—the Los Angeles Shatterdome, I know,” Shaw says, ignoring the proffered hand, and then frowns at the smirk that plays on Root’s lips.

“So you’ve heard of me,” Root says, and it’s not a question. If she’s bothered by Shaw’s lack of interest in shaking hands, she doesn’t show it.

Shaw scowls. “Once or twice.” And then, because Root has a huge duffel on the floor at her feet, Shaw adds, “Pilot quarters are that way.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder, indicating the way she just came.

“Thank you, Shaw,” Root says as she hoists the duffel onto her shoulder, and as she brushes past Shaw, Root sends her a smile so coyingly sweet, it sets Shaw’s teeth on edge. “See you two around.”

Reese waits until she’s turned the corner before raising an eyebrow. “So, what do you think?” 

Shaw shrugs. It’s too early to tell, but she hopes she doesn’t have another Rousseau on her hands. If she’s lucky, though, maybe the two of them will keep each other occupied and out of her hair.

Reese seems satisfied with her response, and as Shaw walks towards him with Bear tailing her, a thought occurs to her.

“Hey,” she starts, and when he falls into step with her, she continues, “Is it true they’re serving burritos today?”

 

 

*

It’s been relatively quiet on the frontlines for the past week. 

Which means that Shaw’s starting to get antsy. She can feel it thrumming through her veins, from the tips of her fingers to her toes, urging her on to do… something. _Anything._ Some of that must be rubbing off on Reese, because he joins her in the Combat Room every day without prompting.

“That the best you got, Reese?” Shaw taunts, the end of her staff hovering at his throat.

Reese is flat on his back, his hands out at his sides in a surrender and his staff on the ground a few feet away, when Shaw’s distracted by the sound of footsteps entering the room. She glances in the direction of the noise but is met with empty space, and Reese uses the opportunity to grab her staff and push, hard.

She stumbles back, but before she can regain her balance, Reese has swept her feet from under her, and now she’s the one staring at the ceiling, her own staff to her throat.

“You were saying?” Reese smirks.

Shaw grunts, and Reese allows her to bat the end of the staff away so she can roll over and grab Reese’s previously abandoned staff.

“Let’s go again.”

 

 

*

Shaw isn’t one of those people who can’t imagine doing anything else.

A brief list of things she’s tried on for size to date:

  * Doctor
  * Marine Corps officer
  * Dog owner
  * Jaeger pilot



The last two are the ones that really stuck, even if Bear’s not _really_ hers.

(She’s much better at killing Kaijus and talking to dogs than direct contact with other people, anyway.)

 

 

*

Shaw has the misfortune of having an empty seat next to her, which is how she winds up with Root for her lunchtime company.

“You don’t like to talk much, do you?”

Shaw grunts, and takes a bite of her pizza. It’s not the greatest food in the world, but there’s not much of a world left – so she’ll take what she can get. Especially when it means she’s saved from responding to rhetorical questions. 

“That’s all right. There’s something about the silent, stoic types that really gets a girl going.”

Shaw’s eyes widen a fraction, and then she turns a glare on the other woman.

She is going to _kill_ Reese for leaving her alone today—

“Wouldn’t you say?” Root’s tone is too innocent.

“Tell me something,” Shaw says instead, once she’s swallowed her food.

Root raises an eyebrow, but somehow manages to look far too pleased for Shaw’s liking – maybe Shaw should’ve rethought this whole ‘engaging someone who is obviously trying to get a rise out of her’ thing. “Anything you want to ask, go ahead. I’m an open book.”

Shaw snorts.

“Though, I hope you’ll give me a reward,” she adds thoughtfully, reaching forward for her drink and brushing Shaw’s arm in the process.

Shaw rolls her eyes. “That depends on your answer.” And then, leaning away from Root, she adds, “How do you pilot the Machine on your own?”

Root looks at her, surprise evident in her features. Finally, she answers at length, “It’s not as hard as most people seem to think.”

Shaw blinks. She can’t have been the first person to ask this, and yet Root’s acting like she is.

“I talk to her. She talks to me.”

The use of “her” gives Shaw pause, and she’s fairly certain there’s more to it – much more – especially considering how no one else in the world has been able to single-handedly pilot a Jaeger. But it’s hard to decipher the look in Root’s eyes, and in the end, all Shaw says is, “It’s that simple, huh?”

Root practically beams at her, and the smile crawls up her skin – though in a manner that’s not altogether unpleasant. “It’s that simple.”

 

 

*

Wednesday—or, wait—it’s Thursday now. 2:15 AM.

She and Reese are second on the scene, playing backup to Root’s Machine. (Samaritan Alpha, according to their comms, is five minutes out.)

Shaw knew Root was good, but even now, she’s kind of impressed. Because Root – _The Machine_ – is holding her own against two Kaijus, punching one in what appears to be a weak spot and grabbing the other by its nostrils, which _has_ to hurt.

“Shaw,” comes Root’s voice over the comms, and Shaw freezes.

Reese sends her a sharp glance, and Shaw forces herself to relax, moving forward in tandem with Reese. “Root,” she says, careful to keep her voice neutral as Mayhem Twins wades through the water.

“Reese,” Root adds, and Shaw notes with annoyance that her voice doesn’t hold the same tone of— _whatever_ that it did when she was addressing Shaw. When Reese doesn’t reply, Root continues, “So nice of you two to show up.”

Reese and Shaw reach forward to pull one of the Kaijus – the one that looks like a fish – off of The Machine, leaving Root free to deal with the lizard-like one.

“Our invitation must’ve gotten lost in the mail,” Reese responds as he and Shaw, not without some effort, throw the Fish back into the ocean. 

It’s not at all grateful to be returned to its home, and instead rears back on its hind legs (which, primordial fishes had those, right? She vaguely remembers that from freshman year biology) and charges at them.

 _Really not the time to think about freshman year biology, Shaw,_ she hears—feels—whatever Reese think, and then, _I’m engaging the sword._ Which turns out to be a good tactical decision, since faster than she expects, the Fish is leaping onto them.

She grunts as Mayhem Twins is propelled backwards from the sheer force of the motion, and when the momentum slows, both she and Reese take a step forward, slashing with the sword in the same movement.

“Shit,” she curses out loud when the Fish bleeds acid onto their hull, and follows that up with a spitball of acid that they barely manage to block with their left arm. _It’s eating through the hull,_ she communicates to Reese after a quick glance at the HUD. _Left arm damage: 23%._

“Now, now, Shaw,” comes Root’s voice over the comms once again. Which—doesn’t she have enough on her plate as it is? “Is that really any way to conduct yourself in a professional environment?”

“If you have a problem with it,” Shaw says as she and Reese bring their right hands up simultaneously to connect with the side of the Fish’s head. It reels back, and they drive the sword straight into its neck, slicing downward in one easy motion. Its guts spill across the ocean’s surface, and all Shaw can think is how that’s going to be a pain in the ass to contain. “Get in line.”

 

 

*

The fact that Samaritan Alpha is too late to the scene is a point of pride in which she has no qualms holding over Rousseau’s head for the next, oh, _forever._  

That, and the fact that they’re finally tied.

(It’s the little things in life, truly.)

 

 

* 

Bear has always shown up outside her compartment right around dinnertime – and yet this time, he’s nowhere to be found.

She stops by the lab to check in with Finch, and he spares her the briefest of glances, saying only, “I thought he was with you, Miss Shaw.” The computer he’s working on lets out a low-pitched beep. “Perhaps you might try the Combat Room.”

It’s not a very likely possibility, but it’s on her way to the mess hall anyway, so she goes.

And lo and behold, Harold was _right_ – because there’s Bear, lying with his scruffy head on his scruffy paws, watching _Root_ as she spins gracefully on the spot and brings the staff down to connect with the mat in a hard _thwack_.

It’s the most traitorous thing that dog has done to her.

She can’t even figure out the _how_ —

“Are you going to join me, _Sameen_?” Root looks up from her routine, flashing Shaw an obvious smirk.

“I’m here for the dog,” Shaw replies, unamused.

“Of course you are,” Root hums, folding her arms across her chest and over the staff so that it sits in the crook of her elbow.

Shaw scowls, rolls her eyes, and snatches a staff from the ground. Grudgingly, she bites out a quick, “We might as well.”

“Since you’re already here,” Root agrees easily, but Shaw doesn’t miss the way her eyes light up as she takes a step forward.

She should’ve known Root would be into crap like this.

 

 

*

“That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” Root says a little while later, when they’ve both found out they’re pretty damned well evenly matched.

“It was all right,” Shaw says noncommittally, sliding the staff back into its rack.

“Don’t sound so somber,” Root chastises, grin already in place. “We might even be drift compatible, if not for John and, well.” She gestures to herself. “My _abilities._ ”

Shaw rolls her eyes and heads for the door. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” comes Root’s reply, and it only bothers Shaw a little bit that she can hear the smile in it, even with her back turned to the other woman.

 

 

*

Drift compatibility is a tricky thing.

Shaw’s first time in the Conn-Pod with Reese was… difficult, to say the least.

It wasn’t a feeling she liked – even now, she’s not sure she likes it. It’s more something she grew used to over time.

And the thought of letting someone else in like that—

The thought of letting someone like _Root_ in—

It leaves her queasy.

Like she’s run a marathon and she can’t breathe and the only thing that would make her feel better is to hurl.

 

 

 

 

*

“Didn’t see you in the training room last night.”

Shaw shrugs, glancing at Reese out of the corner of her eye. “I sparred with Root before lunch.”

Reese raises an eyebrow. “Want to talk about it?”

Shaw sends him a glare. “Want to talk about Zoe?” she counters.

The corners of his mouth twitch, just barely, and he returns to his breakfast. “Touché.”

 

 

*

When Root kisses her one morning after they’ve just obliterated a particularly smart Category III, Shaw wishes she could say it was a surprise.

But all she can think is how not-terrible it is. And how she wouldn’t mind doing this not-terrible thing some more.

Like Root, Root’s kisses are intense, and Shaw suddenly realizes in the way Root’s hands press into her sides, the way her tongue is licking into her mouth, that Root’s not asking to kiss her. Root’s just assumed she wants it.

And the realization that Root is, for once, _right_ makes anger bubble up in her, white hot and bitter, and she tears herself away from the woman.

“This,” she begins as she catches her breath, “does not mean we’re friends.”

“Whatever you say, Sameen,” Root’s bland tone doesn’t match the way she’s smirking at Shaw, and maybe it’s that – or maybe it’s the casual-not-casual way she’s using Shaw’s first name again – that has Shaw fisting one hand in the front of Root’s top and tugging her forward, their lips colliding in a series of nips and bites.

 

 

*

The smirk Reese sends her way the next time they’re in the Conn-Pod, nearly a whole week later, makes her roll her eyes.

“Save it,” she mutters as they’re dropped ten miles off the coast. There’s some buffer, but the impact still reverberates in her bones.

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies, though he’s still smirking.

Surely she couldn’t have been this obnoxious when Reese and Zoe first—

“Oh, but you were,” Reese interrupts her train of thought with a low chuckle.

Shaw grumbles. “Whatever.”

They’re saved from having the rest of this conversation when the Kaiju they’ve been sent there to destroy bowls them over.

(Thankfully, there’s no rest for the wicked.)

 

 

*


End file.
